


Warmth

by GalaxyOwl



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, Huddling For Warmth, brief appearances by Hadrian and Throndir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 10:11:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13761906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyOwl/pseuds/GalaxyOwl
Summary: Close behind Hella, a final set of crunching footsteps, slow and careful. Hella glances back at her: Adaire, her hair pulled back, her coat pulled tight around her as she walks, muttering to herself. Hella still isn’t sure what to make of her, this mapmaker who none of them know.





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> for the 15 days of FatT prompt "warmth"
> 
> (listen, it was the working title on the document and it Just Kind Of Stuck)

Snow crunches under Hella’s boots as she walks, a sound she’s still getting used to. Winter, she’s found, lends a kinetic loudness to every movement, snow and ice an unavoidable obstacle to forward motion. 

A few paces ahead of her, Hadrian and Throndir are talking as they lead the cart off-road. Or, Throndir is talking, and Hadrian is making responses where required, most of his attention taken up by working his way through the snow. Their entire operation had been halted by a fallen tree across the path, and now they were all of them being forced to wade through the full depth of the snow if they wanted to keep moving.

Close behind Hella, a final set of crunching footsteps, slow and careful. Hella glances back at her: Adaire, her hair pulled back, her coat pulled tight around her as she walks, muttering to herself. 

Hella still isn’t sure what to make of her, this mapmaker who none of them know. 

Hella trudges forward to help with the cart. When they’d met in Velis, Adaire had been vaguely friendly, making a comment about the weather and asking personal questions that Hella had only half-answered. The thing was, she couldn’t quite shake the sense that there was something Adaire wasn’t telling her, too—but then, what did she care? If Adaire wanted to have secrets, that was her business, provided they didn’t get _Hella_ hurt.

As she walks, Hella’s gaze drifts up towards the sky. The gray clouds that have become a regular sight over the past months are thick and dark, and flurries of snowflakes are justing starting to fall again.

Hella helps Hadrian push the cart back up onto the road, throwing her weight into it, and then they’re on their way again.

The road itself isn’t much of anything, anymore, but it can be seen in places as a slight dip in the snow level, where a few brave travelers before them have packed it down underfoot. Twice already, there’s been times when the path disappeared into blank, cold white in front of them, and they had to stop and let Adaire consult her maps before they could have any hope of moving on. 

The sky darkens, and the snow picks up.

“This storm’s only going to get worse,” Throndir says. “We should probably stop for the night sometime soon.”

It’s still early, though. They’ve got at least another hour of daylight. “It’ll be even worse if we wait for tomorrow,” Hella says. “We should press on.”

Throndir glances towards Hadrian. 

He hesitates a moment, and then says, “I agree with Hella. We should try a little farther.”

That’s settled, then.

“Are you _sure_ that’s a good idea?” Adaire cuts in. She’d been watching the conversation in silence so far, from something of a distance.

“It’ll be fine,” Hella says.

“Yeah.” Throndir. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Adaire raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t object further. They press on.

Within an hour or so, the dark gray sky has turned a dull, starless black, and the cold that this morning was a mere nuisance is suddenly a biting, wild thing, a numbing sensation on Hella’s face. Her hands are stiff and clumsy as they go about setting camp. 

There is no town or village anywhere in sight, so they found a spot just off the road and made the best of it. They have tents and gear and things, but that’s little comfort when compared with the warm Velisian inn Hella was sleeping in last night.

There’s some fumbling as they try to get a fire going, and to Hella’s surprise it’s Adaire who finally manages it, producing a flint-and-steel from her bag and putting it to use without a moment’s hesitation. And then, contained within a small patch of ground cleared of snow, there’s flame; a hot, crackling glow. 

Hella sits on a frozen log, and direct her gaze away from the fire, trying in vain to make out the shapes of the trees beyond. All she can see is the circle surrounding their tiny campfire, the faces of her companions illuminated in the flickering light. Adaire seems transformed in its glow, her every feature sharply defined, her gaze less criticizing and more thoughtful.

There are a few half-hearted attempts at conversation, but nothing much more than that. Soon, people begin to move to the tents, to sleep.

Hella offers to take the first watch. Despite the day’s activity, she isn’t tired, not now that the option to rest has finally been presented to her.

And so she’s left alone, with the fire and the trees and the cold. Sparks snap in the air, then die as they touch down on the frozen ground. No other sound is audible; the world is contained to this small space within the reach of the firelight.

After not all that long, the fire goes out, and she’s alone, with the trees and the cold and the dark. Her eyes adjust, slowly. Hella can make out the shapes of the tents, of the forest beyond them. She shifts her seating position, and is surprised by the lack of feeling in her legs. She stands, stretches, forces herself to walk the length of the camp. In that moment, her stamping through the snow is the loudest sound she’s ever heard—but then, they’ve already risked the fire. If there’s something in these woods that’s hunting them, it can’t have a much easier time.

Walking doesn’t make her feel any warmer. If anything, Hella feels _colder_.

She takes out her sword, turns it over, its weight a familiar comfort in her hands. Hella practices a few movements, slashing through the air, the hilt glittering in the faint starlight.

A quiet rustling sound, behind her, and Hella whirls, points her sword at intruder—

And finds herself face-to-face with a very startled Adaire. 

For a moment, they’re both of them frozen in place, Adaire with eyes wide, Hella with sword thrust forward.

Hella lowers her blade. “Sorry.”

Adaire laughs. “I suppose I should be grateful we have such an attentive guard,” she says. “Safer that way.” She doesn’t sound particularly grateful.

“What are you doing up?” The plan was for Hella to wake Hadrian when she’d finished her shift. There’s no reason for Adaire to be awake yet.

“Couldn’t sleep.” She sighs, her breath visible steam in the cold air, and takes a seat beside the remnants of the fire. She glances down at the burnt-out coals. “I don’t suppose it’s worth a shot to try to get this going again?”

Hella shrugs. She wouldn’t have thought it was worth the effort, but if Adaire wants to, she won’t complain.

Adaire rubs her arms. She’s sitting with her limbs pulled in tight, her body made small in a gesture towards keeping warm. 

Hella sets her sword aside and sits down beside her. Her gaze follows Adaire’s towards the snow-wet remnants of the fire.

They sit in silence a moment. Adaire is—Hella’s pretty sure Adaire’s actually shivering, as she sits there.

Hella reaches over and wraps an arm around her. 

No sooner has she done this than she regrets it, an awkward gesture at best, but Adaire responds by leaning in closer to her side. She leans her head against Hella’s shoulder, and Hella stiffens, but doesn’t pull away. 

They’re sitting pressed together now, the entire side of their bodies touching, and Adaire is warm. Warmer, at least, than the air. Hella hadn’t realized how cold she’d gotten until she had this to compare it to.

Neither of them say anything. 

If Hella’s being honest with herself, it’s… nice. Adaire is warm, and close, and alive, and maybe that’s all she really needs right now. The presence of another human being, one who doesn’t know or care about _Hella Queenkiller_ , but just Hella. Just another body.

Adaire presses closer, drapes her legs across Hella’s so that she’s almost, but not quite, sitting on her lap. Leans in close, her head against Hella’s chest.

Hella looks down at the top of her head, her soft brown hair, slightly tangled. Then she forces herself to look back up at the forest beyond their camp. She’s supposed to be keeping watch. 

In the morning—she thinks, and then gets no farther through that thought. This moment isn’t compatible with morning, with daylight. She’d rather just let it be.

Hella isn’t sure when, but at some point, Adaire falls asleep.

Her own eyelids feel heavy, and she blinks rapidly. She would stand and move around again to wake herself up, but she can’t for fear of waking Adaire, who is suddenly so soft and vulnerable, a small animal asleep in Hella’s lap.

Overhead, the moon peeks out from behind the bank of dark clouds. Soon, Hella thinks, she will get up, she will wake Hadrian, she will go to bed. But for now, there is this moment.

There’s cold, and there’s Adaire.


End file.
